


Devil Take My Soul

by igrockspock



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All kinds of things can happen when two grown adults spend the night in a cabin together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil Take My Soul

They are sitting on the sofa in front of the fire. Snow is drifting down, covering the cabin, muffling all sound. Crane is drinking madeira, the very drink he had once consumed with Washington to celebrate a battle won. He had extinguished the electric lights long ago, and if he keeps his attention on the hearth, he might believe he has returned to his own time.

Of course, doing so would entail ignoring Abbie Mills, which he is rarely wont to do. In the past months, he has grown inured to the impropriety of being alone with an unmarried woman, but spending the night with one in his house is a new proposition altogether. He will, of course, give her the bedroom, but he wonders if he ought to remove himself from the sofa now.

The leftenant sees him watching and rolls her eyes. "Crane, I am not some delicate flower whose honor needs protecting. I just don't want to break my neck on the roads in a snowstorm, okay? Two grown adults can spend the night together in a cabin."

"Yes, yes, of course," he murmurs, relieved that Abbie misapprehended the reason for his staring. The truth is more base: Ms. Mills can be trusted to spend the night alone with him, but he apparently cannot be trusted to spend the night alone with her. Not that he would force himself upon her-- he would never be so barbarous -- but he cannot stop looking at her long eyelashes, the golden light on her skin, or the outline of her bosom against the tight fabric of her t-shirt. Abbie does not _try_ to be beautiful, she simply _is_ , and that is what Crane finds so appealing.

Sleep is tugging at the edges of his brain, and Crane allows his eyes to drift shut. He will dream of Katrina and rid himself of these thoughts about a woman who is not his wife. He has been asleep only seconds when he feels Abbie shifting on the sofa beside him. When he opens his eyes, she is sitting quite close indeed.

"You know, Crane, two grown adults can do all kinds of things when they spend the night together in a cabin," she says.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Leftenant," he says, but Abbie shakes her head.

"Yes, you do." She swings one of her legs over him, and now she's sitting astride him. "You know _exactly_ what I mean."

Crane fidgets beneath her, but he can't move much. The grip of her legs is quite strong. "This is...most unexpected," he says.

"No, not really. We both know you've been thinking about this for a long time," she says, running a finger down his chest, undoing buttons as she goes. "Don't fight this, Crane. We both have needs. I'd rather do this with you than some stranger I meet at a bar."

"You would...do that?" Crane asks, his growing arousal drowned by this new horror. Leftenant Mills is no common whore, he knows that.

"I wouldn't. That's the problem." Abby leans forward so that her forehead is resting against his, their eyes bare inches apart. "I need this. From you."

Then she kisses him. It's slow, at first. Her lips are full against his, her tongue teases open his mouth, and he wraps his arm tightly around her waist without quite meaning to. Her kisses are harder now. Her teeth graze his lips, and he drops his arm to her hips. She grinds down on him, and he sinks back into the cushions, letting his body go limp. God forgive him. Just this once, it feels so good not to fight.

Abbie's moving down his neck now, nipping and sucking at tender flesh. Her hands slide down his chest, and when he feels her tugging on the strings of his breeches, he does not protest. Her head is dropping lower now, her mouth following the path her fingers had traced down his chest. He lifts his hips so she can tug his breeches down further, and then she wraps her hands around the bare flesh of his thighs, her fingernails digging in. He can feel her breath on him now; he is hardening on the cold night air. Then her mouth is around him, and he finds the restraint to lie still and watch her lips sliding up and down his shaft. His fingers tangle in her hair, and when she looks up at him, he thrusts slowly into her mouth. She tilts her head back, taking him in, and he does it again, and again, and again until he can feel the inevitable building inside him.

Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror above the mantle. The glass shatters, Abbie dissolves, and Moloch is rushing toward him through a forest. He raises his arms, ready to fight --

And then awakens on the sofa in front of the fire. Leftenant Mills is curled in a corner of the sofa. Her soft breaths are the only sound in the cabin. Cautiously he lifts his eyes toward the mirror on the mantle. As he has come to expect, it is quite intact. Ichabod shakes his head to clear away the last vestiges of the dream. It seems the devil has found one more way to take his soul.


End file.
